out of sync
by colorful swirls
Summary: You are supposed to be beautiful, not scarred. - SeamusLavender, post!war, for Emma.


**disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

**dedicated to:** Emma (AStitchedUpHeart) who is 100% awesome. :3 I hope you like this!

**written for:** If You Dare, Music Inspiration Challenge, Quidditch League Tournament - Round 2 (Appleby Arrows, Seeker), Camp Potter: First Aid, Title Swap Competition III (out of sync, Seamus Finnegan), All Sorts of Love Competition (Het), Ravishing Romance Competition (Easy), Pairing Diversity Bootcamp, Songfic Bootcamp.

* * *

**and your eyes look like coming home **

- everything has changed, taylor swift feat. ed sheeran

* * *

:-:

You are the ugliest creature alive.

Everything - every single bit of you has been ruined. Tainted. Poisoned.

The scars make intricate pattern across your pale skin. They twist and cross and twirl, almost like tattoos. _ Tattoos_.

You can feel the darkness coming, again, trying to take you, but you resist, instead, thinking of happier times.

Of course, the time you think of is not quite happy, as it turns out.

Your father has never approved of them. You can remember as if it was yesterday; the day, so many lifetimes ago, when you were just an adorable nine-year-old.

"Daddy, I heard Bella - from across the street - is getting a flower tattooed on her back!" You can see your little face, aglow with excitement at the wonder of gossiping.

Harold Brown doesn't turn away from his copy of the Daily Prophet. "If Bella wants to scar her body, demolish it, that's none of our business, is it, Lavender, darling?"

"No, Daddy," you say. You sigh, and turn away.

Your father was never particularly interested in what you had to say as a child. You were used to it; it hadn't bothered you all that much back then.

Now, though, this is completely out of sync. You are supposed to be beautiful, not scarred.

Now, his words are a blow, knocking you off your feet, making you bleed tears.

:-:

Making your way through the darkness is hard. It's quite possibly the hardest thing you've ever done, in fact.

Waking up in a bed at St. Mungo's - all the treatment, that was nothing.

It's this that makes you want to tremble. People. You haven't seen many of them since the accident. Your parents had visited, some of your old school friends. But no conversation had ever been enough to stay in your memory.

Eventually, though, you're forced to. There is a dance coming up; and no matter how hard you argue, you are not getting out of it, as your mother assures you.

_And remember, you need a date_, she'd added.

You'd decided to just smile politely and not say what was truly on your mind: that the day someone wants to be with you again is the day your scars disappear.

:-:

"Lavender?"

You look up as the door to your flat opens hesitantly. You're swaddled in blankets, your curly chestnut hair astray, sitting in an armchair.

Seamus Finnegan walks over nervously. "I just wanted to see you," he says. He's blushing. You almost smile - it's been too long since you made a boy blush.

"That's fine." You attempt to sit up, and end up falling back instead.

He's there in an instant. "Need help?" Without waiting for an answer, Seamus begins to pull the blanket away; he is successful at first, managing to unravel a half of it, but the other half is.. unreachable.

"Lav," he mutters. "You're sitting on it." He looks at you expectantly.

"Oh," you exclaim. "Oh, of course!" You move out of his way as best you can, and then you continue what you were doing - looking at him.

He has black hair, pale skin, blue eyes, and sharp features, but a kind appearance. His hair is not flat, like Neville's, or untidy, like Harry's. It's more in-between; _tousled_, you decide. His eyes are beautiful. They look like the sea and the sky and the stars, all wrapped into one color.

You're jolted out of your reveree suddenly by the feel of his fingers touching you. Still trying to release you from your cotton prison, he'd reached behind to yank a piece of the blanket away, but ended up lightly grazing your back instead.

He moves away instantly, but it's too late; you've already felt the electricity. You're not sure whether it's because you're attracted to him, or because your scars are still sore.

"I'm sorry," Seamus says, standing. "Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to - "

"It's just my scars, Seamus, the damn things."

"What do you mean? I quite like them."

"_Like_ them?" Your mouth is gaping, you can feel it.

"Yes. They represent everything you battled for. They show that you won, and you're alive, and nothing else matters." He's smiling at you.

If this had been anyone else, you would've yelled and screamed about how utterly wrong they were, about how horrible your scars are; but you can't seem to, gazing up at Seamus's gentle face.

After a moment of silence, you say, "Thanks for coming, Seamus. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?" You smile at him, a little bit.

"Yeah," he mumbles. "Yeah, actually, there is," he adds, louder now. "Do you - would you wanna - could I please - " His voice sounds almost fearful; but what is he scared of?

"Can I be your date to the ball, Lavender?"

And you are so blown away by this question, you immediately say _Yes_, without even thinking about what it means.

Seamus grins, then hurries out the door. You remain in your blankets.

:-:

You realize a week later, preparing for the ball, that if Seamus' eyes are the sky, you are the sun. You can _shine_ again, when you're with Seamus.

The thought makes you smile as you walk out of the bathroom, holding a towel around yourself, and into your small bedroom. Your mum had chosen two dresses for you to choose from, and here they are.

Both of them are beautiful. One is lace with flowers and silk and ivory ruffles and you instantly find yourself attached. But the another - it's the exact shade of his eyes.

You honestly don't know why this matters so much to you. He's always been a great friend, yes, but how did your feelings change this fast? Maybe it was the innocence in his eyes, even after a war, or maybe the electricity in his fingers, or maybe the stars in his eyes.

But all of a sudden, you know which dress you're wearing, and you don't even _care_ that it has a strapless back. They can see your scars, if they want. The entire _world_ can see your scars.

_They show that you won._

:-:

Seamus strides up to you as you enter the ballroom. It's inside the Ministry of Magic, somewhere that you'll probably never be again.

"Care to dance?" he asks, raising his eyebrows and gesturing to the couples dancing. Parvati, who is slow-dancing with Dean, waves at you as the two pass. You wave back quietly, with a wiggle of your fingers.

"Sure," you say.

By the fifth dance, you're exhausted, but also more awake than you've been since _the accident_. Seamus has suggested a way to relax - there is a fountain nearby, he claims, according to Ernie. You follow him through hallways, until you reach it; it's marble and tall and strong. The water flows from the middle down to the pool.

"It's wonderful." You take a Galleon out of your purse and drop it in, sitting down on the edge. He takes a seat beside you.

"Lavender?" Seamus asks.

"Yes?"

"Look at me."

You tear your gaze away from the fountain and turn to him. For a split second, the two of you look at each other. And you realize that his eyes are not sky or sea or stars. His eyes are _home_.

Then he leans forward to kiss you, and you know he was right - you are marred, you will never be quite the same, but yes, you _have_ won.

:-:

* * *

**a/n:** please don't favorite/alert without reviewing, thanks!


End file.
